


Calla Lilies and Hydrangeas

by DalliantThoughts



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: AU, Calla Lilies and Hydrangeas, F/M, I'm pantsing the fuck out of this, PLOT? WHAT'S THAT?, Retelling, Summer Wine, feysand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:42:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DalliantThoughts/pseuds/DalliantThoughts
Summary: "Her lips upon his were scolding, boiling him alive, molten metal poured over the icy abyss of his soul. His hands engulfed her, the abeyant pull roaring to new heights. It took all his control to not crush her to him, to remember her body was no more but a fallen autumn leaf, carefully tucked between the pages of a book to keep from crumbling."–––Set about a week after the events of ACOTAR, this story follows a finally free Rhysand as he meets a different Feyre, a girl marred by the promise she made to her mother, tortured by her reality, fighting to keep herself and her family alive by any means. A girl that never killed a wolf, never fell for Tamlin, never went Under the Mountain.The story examines how Rhysand and Feyre's relationship would have unfolded were they to meet under different circumstances, when the stakes for human Feyre were higher, and when Rhysand no longer believed in hope.Oh, and of course right as she robs him.Later chapters will be marked as NSFW.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my attempt at getting back into writing after 6 years of inactivity. I haven't been able to get these characters out of my head and I was wondering what would have happened if Rhysand were to have had met Feyre under different circumstances, once the curse placed upon them had already been broken. Basically, I wanted to remove the obstacle of Tamlin and Under the Mountain and see how their relationship would have unfolded were they allowed to remain in their surroundings, each dealing with their own bitter realities:  
> Rhysand - about to lose hope, and Feyre - fighting to keep herself and her family alive.
> 
> As an added obstacle, I decided to write this story in 3rd person POV, which I don't usually do, but definitely need more exercise in. So, please bear with me as I try to figure out WTF I am doing.

* * *

 

Rhysand couldn’t remember the last time he had stepped foot in the Mortal Lands – Amarantha had kept him Under the Mountain for a good half a century. 

Now, with the curse finally broken, some poor fool having fallen for Tamlin and destroyed Amarantha’s reign over them (and what a fool she was, just one they would forever be indebted to), he was free to go wherever he pleased for once.

It was an unfamiliar feeling – freedom. And one that had definitely been short lived.

Freedom… Independence… The words prickled the edges of his mind. A dark laugh escaped him as he shook his head. What he wouldn’t have given to have been able to stay in Velaris longer. Instead, it was imperative he attend the Summit against the forces of Hybern. With all other High Lords in attendance at the six Mortal Queens’ behest, he, who had the most to prove, the most to protect, could not be the one to decline their invite. 

He needed to make his mark.

And he felt there was something more he needed to accomplish. An inexplicable pull he felt the moment his lungs were met with fresh mountain air, rays of sun dancing across his skin for the first time in forty-nine years, a feeling of rightness filling his lungs.

Having winnowed into the city of Meriant, Rhysand now made his way through the streets, walking from one of the only remaining temples in the Mortal Lands towards the Palace, situated in the city centre. 

Not many places could hold a candle to Velaris, especially in the Mortal Lands, with the inconsequential life spans of its inhabitants, but if there ever was one to come close, Meriant would be it. There wasn’t a corner of the city that wasn’t adorned with some kind of carving. The buildings, tall and sculpted out of dark stone, loomed over anyone who just took the time to realise the shadows they cast upon this world, keeping the city in a perpetual state of chilling dusk. Some may have found it ominous and imposing, but there was beauty in this caliginosity – in knowing one was just a few wingbeats or a few flights of stairs away from a sight as breathtaking as the Velarian sky on Starfall. 

And in knowing one could step out of the gloom and reach it at any time.

The meeting with the Queens wouldn’t be until the next day, yet Rhysand had felt it necessary to arrive in the city early. It wasn’t that he couldn’t winnow in at any time. But there was a pull in the very back of his mind, as if tethered to his very consciousness, that was urging him on to make the trip today. As if coming any later would be _too_ late. 

Now that he was here, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He cursed himself for allowing his senses to fool him. Too much time he had spent bound to a woman who knew nothing but her own gratification. It would take some time for him to regain his trust in his surroundings and calm the voices in his head urging him to act first - ask later, as if his new-found freedom depended on it. 

His instincts kept him alive in Under the Mountain. Now, they seemed more prone to driving him out of his mind.

Having roamed the streets aimlessly for the better part of an hour, simply watching humans, most of them unaware of the impending threat, go about their days, he was about to give up on the madness that was listening to his thoughts and winnow back to Velaris, when an unusually warm breeze picked up and the same feeling that had seized him when he left Under the Mountain shot through his body again, leaving him almost immobilised. 

His eyes darted along the walls of the closest buildings, trying to identify the source of the feeling awakening every flight instinct in his body, dread coating his every thought. 

He couldn’t winnow away if his life depended on it. And it sure felt as if it did as he tried to squeeze his fists together, trying to regain some semblance of control – to no avail. 

This should _not_ be happening. 

_Where is she?_

The thought shot through his mind before he knew what was happening.

_Amarantha is dead. I saw it with my own two eyes. This can’t be-_

His legs suddenly took on a life of their own as they started moving in the direction of one of the city’s more run down taverns. He was in a haze, every thought in his body concentrated on not letting his body be overpowered, and yet he was losing the fight.

He was the most powerful High Lord in history. He had managed to withstand some of Amarantha’s bidding… and here he found himself defenceless to a force he couldn’t identify. Beckoning him. 

As soon as he opened the door, he felt it. Felt _her_. She was situated in a corner, her head bowed, umber curls concealing her features, her cloak disguising the rest. A cup of musky red liquid in front of her.

He took a step towards her, carried on a wind that wasn’t there, palpable only to him, so strong he couldn’t thwart it if he tried. 

The human girl lifted her head and her startled eyes met his as he pulled out the chair across from her. An image of the Velarian sky flashed across his mind, a smile mingled in with the shimmering orbs adorning the view. A memory. 

No. Not a smile. 

 _Her_ smile.

She cleared her throat. “Wine?”

Too beguiled by the sound of her voice, it took Rhysand a moment to understand the offer, before he nodded. The girl motioned for the waitress, and, for the first time, Rhysand noticed the pouch in her hands.

His eyes lingered on her calloused fingers, too thin for someone her size, wrapped tightly around the small pouch, squeezing it, as if her life depended on it. 

He was trying to make sense of the situation. Of how someone as utterly human and sickeningly thin as the girl sitting in front of him could exert such a pull. She looked no stronger than a branch of a fallen tree towards the end of winter, the cold having taken its toll on it, nature having reclaimed and drained away any semblance of life once given. One push and it would break. Yet her pale livid eyes held in them the light and strength her body seemed to lack.

He carefully opened up his mind to hers, trying to read her motives, understand who she was, but instead he was met with the same intoxicating pull as before. Yet the girl was conclusively human, nothing but bewilderment at the thought of a handsome stranger taking the seat in front of her in an otherwise empty tavern crowding her mind, and a burning anger – at what, he didn’t know.

Noticing his prolonged attention, the girl’s eyes narrowed, her fingers clenching around the little worn thing in her fist, as she slowly placed it in a pocket beneath her cloak. Her own eyes were racking up and down his features, having probably felt him prodding in her mind. 

He sensed a lingering fear in her, an anxiety unrelated to his intrusion, and wanted to keep sifting through the various images in her mind, when the waitress brought over the wine, setting it down with a thud in front of him. Carefully, he pulled back from her mind. Humans were apprehensive at best, fearful and blinded by abhorrence at worst, when it came to his kind. He had glamoured his features enough, but he didn’t want to risk getting recognised as something more. Not when he needed to know more about her.

The girl crossed her arms in front of her and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes were strained on his, though despite the brave facade she was putting on, apprehension still marred her features after his intrusion. He had seen as much. 

Rhysand picked up his cup. Slowly, he lifted it to his nose, smelling its contents. He wouldn’t let his guard down again. Not even in the presence of mere humans. 

“Someone feeling the need to sniff his drink, probably shouldn’t be sitting down with strangers.” She was far more perceptive than most. “Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned,” she added after a moment when he didn’t respond.

The girl looked unsure of her words for a moment, his prolonged silence putting her on edge. He noticed her taking in the whole of him, her eyes resting a little longer at the Illyrian blades he had fastened at his side. He saw her expression harden – at what, he didn’t know. 

Rhysand was still at a loss for words, and it wasn’t like him. He could be cruel. He could be charming. He could be anything he wanted at a moment’s notice. He had had forty-nine years to master the art of deceit. And yet this girl unravelled him wholly. 

He was about to open his mouth when silent resolve shaded her features, akin to an avalanche enshrouding a winter forest in deadly silver. Letting out a breath, she levelled her gaze with his, her roguish smile engulfing him. She downed her drink in one go, giving him a pointed glance. Taking a last whiff, he followed suit. 

The girl got up from her seat and pulled at his hand. He quickly left some coins on the table before he followed, as if in a trance. He did not want to let her leave. With a glance over her shoulder, the girl nodded at someone behind them, before guiding him to the door. 

He stopped short when the cold air hit them again, the harsh smell of moss perforating his heightened senses. The girl seemed undisturbed.

“Where are we going?”

For a moment the girl froze, the creaking of the tavern door and foreign footsteps the only noises around them at this hour. Then, without turning, she spoke to the sky, her breaths visible in the night air. “Ah, so he speaks.”

“I never alluded to the opposite.” A smile played along Rhysand’s lips.

“No, you did not.”

Silence engulfed them again. 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing there. Why he was staying there, rooted to the spot… But he found the girl intriguing. It had been eons since he had last spoken to a human, and he did not remember them that… captivating. Whilst he had fought on their side in the war, he was doing it because he found their treatment undignified. He was doing the right thing. Then he was aiding Miryam and Drakon in their fight. He, himself, had never shared any particular bonds with humans. Yet this girl, whose name even evaded him, in all of her fragile beauty, was the most enthralling thing he had seen in a long while, if not ever. The thought of not understanding her almost made his chest constrict. 

He took a step towards her, and stopping next to her, gazing up at the star filled sky, he whispered, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s one of the few things worthwhile in this city.” She almost sounded resigned, her voice no more than a whisper, yet hardened by a resolve he did not expect. 

“Is this what you wanted to show me?”

She turned her head, fixating him with her clear eyes as a smile spread on her lips again. “Were you awaiting something grander? Something more magical than the starry night sky?” It almost sounded like a challenge.

“There is but a handful of things I cherish more.”

The girl scoffed before turning away from him again. After another moment she pulled at his hand. “Come on then. I need to show you there is more to cherish in life than a few twinkling lights somewhere far off in the distance.” 

She didn’t give him much of a choice as she started walking in the opposite direction of where he had come from, going uphill, navigating through the narrow passages of the town centre. Not that he would have stayed behind.

For a moment, he even contemplated slipping back into her mind, figuring out who this girl was, what she wanted. But he had been careful and on guard for a long time, and as elusive as the girl guiding him was, he did not feel threatened by her. Having experienced the wrenching feeling of having Amarantha shred through his own thoughts, trying to grasp at the last essence of his being to fortify the embankment around the things he held most dear, violating the girl’s privacy like that, when he could feel she was no threat, made even the foulest parts of his being feel filthy.

Maybe he felt the need to repent for some of his actions. Maybe he just wanted not to care for once. But he decided to leave her be, letting his guard down.

 No, it would most certainly have been foolish to think him capable of being harmed by a mere human. He was tired of looking out. So when she asked him to wait outside a door whilst she retrieved something from the inside, he did as asked. And when she led him further up the roads until they had the city laid out before their feet, he followed. 

They barely spoke as they walked up the roads. And when she stopped at a lodge overseeing the city and sat on a stone close to the scarp, he sat next to her. 

Not looking at him, she took a gulp, her face scrunching together, then handed him the bottle she had retrieved from the house. Rhysand mirrored her action, the bottle rough and cold beneath his fingers. The drink was much stronger than he anticipated, and he couldn’t help it as he let out a cough, the burn worse than what he was accustomed to. 

Some things were bound to change in all the time he had been locked away. Even human liquids.

“ _This_ is what I wanted to show you.”

Rhysand looked at Meriant, the mist cloaking it – aglow. He looked at what was probably this girl’s whole world laid bare at his feet. 

He took another sip. The girl smiled.

“What makes you think I haven’t seen _this_ before.”

“You don’t look like someone from around here.” No, that he did not. 

He didn’t reply as he took another gulp from the beverage, the unsubsiding burning in the girl’s presence making him feel alive in a way he hadn’t had in all the years Under the Mountain. He went to hand her the bottle, but she just shook her head, looking back out at the city sprawled beneath her feet, an inexplicable sadness suddenly marring her hollow features. 

“Sometimes I wonder,” she began, then paused, forlorn. “I wonder what it would be like being able to fly across this city. To be one with the sky. Feel the wind rip at my skin and let it tear away my pro–.” Her voice broke. “My responsibilities.” Her expression darkened.

The air was knocked out of Rhysand’s lungs. He felt the sudden urge to shed his glamour, press her body against his, and lift her into the air. He knew too well the need to spread his wings, feel the air pushing against them, a wall of resistance of the most joyous kind, as he claimed the skies. He had been denied it too long. 

But Rhysand was selfish. He had been with Velaris, and he would be now, too. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not if he didn’t want to have her running from him. He enjoyed her company too much, his loneliness mirrored in her pained eyes. He relished the silence between them, the reprieve it gave him from his own thoughts and responsibilities drowning him alive, the ruthless persona he had to portray. He wondered what could make a girl from a world so unlike his feel such burden.

So instead, he gazed at her as he said, “I imagine the view would be even more beautiful.”

She had a bitter smile to spare for him. 

“What is it you wish to escape?”

Instead of answering, she turned on her spot, her body facing his wholly. Slowly, she moved closer to him, her eyes tracing his features.  He held his breath, the pull from before tearing at his skin. Her hand reached out to his, but instead of touching him, she snatched the bottle out of his hands and tipped her head back as she took a long swig. She coughed a few times, before throwing it back at him. Rhysand almost laughed.

Not leaving her out of his sight, he did the same. The unnatural burn a welcome distraction from his own thoughts, of the things he was trying to escape, of the feelings stirred by the girl’s intoxicating proximity, of the burdens _he_ had to carry.

He was caught off guard when he suddenly felt her crawl onto his lap. It took all his strength to not push her off immediately, his darkness rippling, pulsing, throbbing at his reins, sharper than a glowing knife, ready to defend him, as fresh memories flashed in his mind of Amarantha atop him, of being left to her mercy. And he almost did let the darkness suppurating inside him break free, but the girl’s eyes widened in horror at what she must have seen in front of her.

 _She is no threat._  

He allowed his rigid muscles to relax, as he looked back out to the expanse in front of them, allowing the cold breeze to wash over him and calm his raging mind, cleansing it of what was. Taking in the vast sea glistening behind the glowing city, he slowly placed a hand on the girl’s lower back, almost summoning the heat from her body to add to the incessant burn in his chest and abdomen, and loosed a breath as he tried to ground himself in her human presence.

The girl looked like she had made the gravest mistake of her life. For a moment, he thought she was going to bolt. But then resolve coated her features again and this time it was her that lifted the bottle to his lips. Her eyes remained strained on him, as she watched every sip he took, his throat moving with it, and when she lowered the bottle, her gaze slowly travelled to his lips. 

“Rhysand.” He breathed his name. She didn’t even move. 

“Rhysand.” He repeated. His head had started to feel heavy, the burning pounding not having subsided.

“If you are going to kiss me, you could at least bestow upon me the honour of knowing your name.” 

“Who said I was going to –” but her breath caught in her throat. She raised a trembling hand and traced the path left by the drop that had run down his chin just a moment before, leaving his skin ablaze. 

“I wasn’t –” before she could finish, he silenced her lips with his. Now it was the girl’s turn to go rigid, her spine straight in his lap. It only lasted a moment, before she brought her own hands behind his shoulders and pressed herself closer to him, an almost silent moan escaping her. 

Her lips upon his were scolding, boiling him alive, molten metal poured over the icy abyss of his soul. His hands engulfed her, the abeyant pull roaring to new heights. It took all his control to not crush her to him, to remember her body was no more but a fallen autumn leaf, carefully tucked between the pages of a book to keep from crumbling apart.

They broke away for only a moment, both heaving, but it was enough. As she started working on his belt, trying to free him from his weapons, he knew. He _knew_.

His chest constricted with the weight of a thousand suns exploding. Horror marred his features. 

_It can’t be._

His blades fell away and she pulled at his shirt, freeing him from its confinement. 

One second she was crushed against him again, her mouth on his, their breaths – one, the flames in his veins roaring. The next she was standing up, pulling him with her to his feet. He was still beside himself. He almost cried out at the loss of her heat, a low hiss escaping his chest. The heat running through his veins was boiling him alive, the loss of contact rendering it unbearable. 

He stumbled a step in her direction. 

His vision blurred. The pounding in his head was getting stronger. He reached out for her again, his hand barely reaching her as he tried to take another step towards her. Instead, he grasped at air.

He was burning from the inside out. 

Rhysand fell to his knees. He clutched at his throat and chest, his glamour was failing him. His darkness uncontainable. 

His eyes shot to the girl again. To the innocent human whose pain seemed to mirror his own. He expected to be met with shock, bewilderment, confusion, horror at what was unfolding.

Instead, he was met with icy resolve, a slight panic to her features, as her chest rose and fell rapidly. Disgust was prevalent on her face.

“Feyre,” the girl spat, grinding her teeth. “My name is Feyre.”

He could only watch her sidestep him hastily, bend down to lift his blades off the ground where they had been discarded, and run as if her life depended on it, as the ash in his system ripped its way through his body.

Rhysand let out a growl loud enough to make the ground clutched in his hands tremble.

The human girl had just poisoned _and_ robbed him.

The human girl that was his mate. 

It took all of his strength to winnow himself into safety, her name scorching him just as strongly as the ash slowly tearing him asunder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this story. I'd love to continue writing it.
> 
> Since I am currently obsessed with anything SJM, feel free to come fangirl and talk with me over at [my tumblr](http://dalliantthoughts.com).
> 
> Seeing as English isn't my first language, I'll be elated to hear about any mistakes that made you want to stab your eyes out. Any other criticism is also welcome and encouraged, especially if it comes to sentence structure / pacing. (It doesn't even have to be constructive! :P )
> 
> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Until next time,  
> Karolina


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

The Shadowsinger had been the first one to reach Rhysand’s side, having had been instructed to scout a nearby city with the shadows that would whisper every little thing amiss to him. 

Rhysand collapsed into his brother’s hands, as he, in turn, winnowed them back to Velaris. He was half-conscious by the time they arrived, his brother calling for a healer, the trip having taken them longer than if Rhysand were to have winnowed himself back. Too many stops had to be made between the continent and home. 

Stops which may have cost him crucial time. Time he might no longer have claim to. 

He barely registered the hands gripping him, pulling him onto a table – the only indication of his consciousness a grunt.

“What in the Cauldron happened?” He could scantly make out his cousin’s panicked voice as the inferno in his veins reigned.

Another voice – angry – was being muffled by the pounding in his ears.

Rhysand tried to speak. Tried to force his body to obey him, his mouth to open and form the words rippling through his mind, their weight shredding him.

Instead, all that came from him was another grunt as he succumbed to the burn claiming his consciousness. 

 

* * *

 

He was drenched in sweat when he awoke, his eyelids heavy with the weight of a stone squelching the most delicate feather. It took more of his strength than he was willing to admit to open them. The pounding in his head had subsided. The searing heat in his veins had given way to arduous fatigue. Every movement of his chest caused bolts of pain to shoot through his muscles, which left him feeling frail – the exact opposite of the imposing presence of the warrior standing next to him. 

“Took you long enough.” The warrior’s voice was devoid of humour, the severity of the situation not evading him.

“My apologies. I will make sure to speed up the process next time,” Rhysand replied with barely a whisper. 

“I’d rather there weren’t a next time.” 

Despite the pain, he tried to smile at his oldest friend in hopes of putting his mind at ease. When Cassian realised Rhysand wasn’t going to continue, he started his report instead – pacing.

“Azriel has been monitoring Meriant all day. The High Lords’ haven’t arrived yet. His shadows have reported no unusual activity in the Courts either. They will have assumed we would be monitoring them.”

“I am aware.”

“We will go in during the meeting. The healer tried identifying the origin of the ash, but it isn’t from a source on our side.”

“I know.”

“Whoever did this was incredibly foolish. Thinking they will get away. I will personally – ”

“Cassian.”

“ – see to it that they are punished. Such a brash attack. How impetuous of them!”

“Cassian.”

“At least now you will not attend that meeting. I told you not to. How dare they – ”  

“Cassian.” 

He kept talking over him, paying no attention to his rasps. 

“It was my mate.” 

Cassian’s verbal assault came to an abrupt halt, his lips slightly parted like a kernel of dust perpetually suspended in mid-air. Were Rhysand to slip into his mind at that moment, he knew he would find nothing but disbelief at the words he had just uttered. So he added more firmly, “And I will attend as planned.” 

A deep crease formed between Cassian’s brows. He was about to continue when a voice came from the side of the room he hadn’t been pacing in, interrupting his admonitions. Mor’s face was equally drawn together. “What mate?”

Rhysand slowly turned his head towards her. She was staring at him expectantly, her arms crossed across her chest. “I – ” 

Before he could respond, Cassian’s bitter guffaw ricocheted through the room. Rhysand would have turned towards him, were he able to. But alas, that would require more strength than he could muster.

“Your _mate_?” He almost sneered. Another bitter laugh escaped him. Then, softer, the sound giving way to the underlying harshness of his words, he added, “Of course it was.” 

Cassian came to a stop next to Mor. He bent forward, the palms of his hands resting on the edge of the iron bed Rhysand was lying on. Cassian’s expression turned scornful, his lips pressed together so hard they disappeared, as he shook his head from side to side. “What Court?” The words were clipped, his agitation evident.

Rhysand felt simultaneously touched and irate by his friend’s worry for him. He did not need his sympathy, much less his concern. He knew the sorrow his friend must be feeling for him. After everything, he could still not catch a break. Even the person picked by the Cauldron for him seemed to be poised against him. Her, and the whole world it seemed. 

“Who is she?” Mor was by his side now, shooting Cassian a pointed look, daring him to continue. Even the jostling of the bed as she sat by his side called forward a moan from him he had difficulty silencing. 

“I don’t know.” It pained him to admit it. He knew little more than her name, having allowed himself to get lost in the pull of her. Having allowed the sensation to overtake him. He had not been prepared for the ferocity of the pull. He had been told it was unmistakable, its presence cleaving minds when ignored. He had experienced as much when slipping into the minds of others. But no amount of mental voyeurism could have prepared him for it. Rhysand wasn’t sure he wanted to share what little he _did_ know with his family just yet. 

“How did she do it?” Cassian, ever the strategist.

“How do you think she did?” came Amren’s voice as she entered the room coming to a stop by the door. “She probably just had to look at him for him to offer to ingest the ash himself.” Her voice was filled with distaste.

Mor’s eyes shone at the insinuation. “When do we meet her?”

“You are forgetting the fool allowed her to poison him,” came her wintry response.

“Amren!” Mor admonished almost playfully, then lowered her head at the hard stare that met her. Yet her eyes still held the delicate hope instilled only a moment ago.

“She’s right,” said Cassian. “She tried to murder him.”

Mor looked at Rhysand expectantly, as if waiting for him to disagree. When he didn’t so much as open his mouth, she let out a deep sight. “She’s still his mate.” Then, more upbeat, “She won’t be able to resist. It’s _the bond_! She’d be a fool to!”

“And yet here he is,” Cassian retorted.

“You know that’s not how it works, girl,” Amren said, her voice the image of pure disinterest. 

“Have Azriel return,” came Rhysand’s order to the shadows. There was no point in his friend looking for a threat that was not there. Not in the form they thought. 

“But we need to – ”

“There is no threat from the High Lords, Cassian. Not for this.” Then, after a moment he added,  “Not yet.” Cassian’s brow furrowed.

“Then who was it? Why did she do it?”

Rhysand didn’t respond, looking at the ceiling instead. How could he tell them that she was a mere human looking out for herself? That he had been that foolish? That easily manipulated by someone? Not only drugged, but also _robbed_. How could he tell them he was so starved for hope, so cadaverously emaciated of his self, that he willingly allowed himself to be led astray if only for the chance of feeling. Of forgetting. Of erasing and building anew. Now, when his Court needed him to be the strongest. When he needed to establish his ruthlessness among the other High Lords and the Mortal Queens. He had not only failed himself – he had failed his Court. He could not let them see how damaged he truly was. He could admit to a crack – but the whole extent? That was even beyond his comprehension.

Rhysand didn’t think that the girl had acted on the behalf of anyone but herself. He didn’t think the Mortal Queens would be so asinine as to send a girl after him. They couldn’t have known of his arrival. And the High Lords weren’t desperate enough to stoop so low as to have a mortal do their dirty work. Too many things could have gone wrong for it to have been a plan formulated by them. Not unless it was meant as an insult to him. Yet, judging from the hatred in the girl’s eyes in those last few moments before he had succumbed to the ash eating its way through his body, he doubted that was the case. No, Feyre had only been looking out for herself.

 _Feyre_. 

Her name rippled through him, dichotomising his mind. He could still feel the tug emanating from her. Calling to him. Calling _him_. He wanted nothing more than to follow that magnetising tether now taut between them, an ever-present link. A promise.

He could feel Mor’s eyes on him, taking it all in. Taking _him_ in. His stance. His refusal to divulge anything about his mate. Her eyes shone brightly, rays of gold dancing in them as her brows shot up. He could see the moment the realisation hit her. “She’s not one of us!” 

Rhysand only let out a groan as she shot up from the bed. She turned to him immediately and bounced back onto the mattress, landing on her hands and knees, the movement eliciting another grunt from him. She was shaking the bed on purpose. “She’s from the Faerie Realms!” Mor teased.

Rhysand didn’t respond.

“For the love of the Mother,” Amren muttered as she took his silence in. Took the words in. When her eyes turned into slits, her gaze fixating him like an arrow its target, he knew that she had figured out what he was too prideful to admit. “ _Human?_ ” She drawled in his mind. He only gave her a slight nod, lowering his chin almost imperceptibly. 

Amren shook her head – the only sign of concern she would ever show, and grumbled under her breath as she left, still shaking her head at them. Rhysand let out a sigh at her departure. He was keenly aware that he would have to listen to her reprimand for his stupidity later. But Amren wasn’t going to stick around for him to break the news to the rest of his family.

“Oh please! As if others haven’t found their mate despite Court politics!” Mor called after Amren.

The little one slowly turned around at the end of the corridor. Her eyes, wrapped in steel, fixated Mor with a stare so cold it could freeze over a lesser fae’s soul. “Do not presume to know everything, Morrigan, for your naïveté precedes you.”

Mor inhaled sharply. “What –”

“She’s human,” Rhysand interjected, knowing he could not afford them being at each other’s throats at this time. Amren barely tolerated them as was, and her mood in the previous week had only declined. He could not have Mor be on her bad side now. 

Mor’s head shot in his direction, her eyes wide. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Human?” Cassian repeated. 

Rhysand just nodded. Cassian broke out in a guffaw so loud, Rhysand wondered whether there was anyone in Velaris that didn’t hear him laugh at his expense. “The blades?”

“Stolen,” he muttered, as he painfully lifted one arm to cover his eyes, barely seeing Amren turn and leave for good. Rhysand could feel his strength slowly returning, though the movement still strained the muscles in his arm and chest. 

Another long incredulous laugh. Cassian slapped Rhysand’s leg. He would pry his every finger off of him one by one and feed them to Azriel’s shadows if he didn’t remove his paw from him. Cassian seemed to understand his darkened expression, as he slowly backed away, his lips lifting at the sides. 

“Rhysand, Death Incarnate, High Lord of the Night Court, was nearly killed by a mere human. A human he’s mated to. I like her already!” Cassian announced. 

“Will you go find her?” finally came from Mor. Her brows were drawn together. She was eyeing him sceptically. Her eyes had gone blank, the colour drained from her usually jubilant face. 

“I don’t know.”

“He’s probably too embarrassed to face her!” Cassian teased.

“She’s your mate,” she whispered. 

“She’s human.”

Mor lowered her gaze. She sat beside him again, and stared out the window, at the endless expanse of mountains spanning from Velaris to the Court of Nightmares, separating them. They were covered in the first snow that had come early, twinkling in the morning rays, so breathtaking, the sight could have been akin only to something not of this world. Beautiful. Cold. Vicious. Deadly. 

He gave his cousin a sad smile. She knew. She understood the cards the Mother had dealt him. Understood his fate as well as he did. There would be no salvation for him. Not after everything. Not after this.

He didn’t deserve it. 

“So what if she is?” Cassian broke the sudden silence between them, looking between his High Lord and his cousin. “Afraid of getting your butt handed to you again?”

Mor leaned over and placed a kiss on Rhysand’s temple. Her lips tugged at the sides slightly as she announced she needed to go after Amren now that she knew he wasn’t going to die. Excusing herself, she took her leave. Rhysand had half a mind to ask her to stay, to give Amren her distance, but he knew that this time Mor wasn’t going to antagonise her. Instead, she was going to talk to her about him. So he let her go.

Rhysand waited for a few second after she had left and he was certain she wouldn’t be able to overhear them before he addressed Cassian.

“You are not to look for her.”

“I wasn’t going to. You are.”

Rhysand shook his head. He started getting out of the bed. He needed to flex his muscles, needed to get his circulation moving if he wanted to be able to attend the meeting that day.

“What are you talking about?”

“I will not be going after her,” he announced.

“Why?”

Rhysand didn’t respond.

He could sense Cassian eyeing him. His gaze tearing through him. 

“Fine then. I will,” Cassian said with determination.

“You will do no such thing.” His voice could have frozen over the sea. 

“She can’t be that pretty then if you don’t want to see her again. Can ignore the bond so easily.”

He knew what Cassian was trying to do, but he would not play into it. He had made his decision. He was content with it. So he settled on giving Cassian a placating smile instead.

“The Cauldron probably took account of your rotten personality and decided to match you with your equal,” Cassian spat.

“Cassian,” Rhysand let out a deep sigh. 

“Fine. If you’re not interested, maybe I’ll go and see how she likes my advances. Since she managed to get you to let your guard down, I can only imagine the sort of vix–” Rhysand was in his face and holding him by the collar before he could finish his thought. 

“I gave you an order,” he said, his voice more lethal than a scythe wielded by the Mother herself.

His friend didn’t back away as he held his eyes. Rhysand could see the same concern in them he had seen only moments before. His own breath was coming out in pants, the sudden movement having taken from him more than he was prepared for. 

An inflammatory smile tugged at the edges of Cassian’s mouth. “She must be something then.” 

Rhysand’s fist connected with Cassian’s nose before he could move away. The warrior groaned as his head snapped back. 

“It was an order,” his voice was edged in iron. “Do not test me, Cassian. Not today.” Cassian tried taking a step back, his hand shooting up to his nose. He smiled wryly.

Azriel appeared by his side, stepping out of the shadows around them. Rhysand felt his hand on his shoulder, pulling him slightly back. He let his hand drop from Cassian, and taking a deep breath to ground himself, he turned his back to leave. He had more important things to do today than let Cassian bait him into a fight he wasn’t willing to have.

There was no confusion shading Azriel’s features as he fell into step beside him, throwing a last poignant glance in Cassian’s direction, who let out a deep sigh. Rhysand could see him shaking his head at him, believing his choice was misguided at best. Contrariwise, only curiosity herself seemed to hold Azriel’s eyes, his shadows having clearly informed him of the discussion had in his absence. 

“The girl…”

“Is not to be searched for,” Rhysand repeated.

Azriel nodded. “They will be arriving shortly.”

“I better get ready for my grand entrance then,” Rhysand sighed. He would have to find the healer again, make sure that his strength was replenished to the furthest possible extent before he crossed the Wall again.

Rhysand was ready to winnow away, when his friend’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

Azriel’s eyes bore into his, stealthy resolve in them. “Will you look for her?” He whispered. 

Rhysand was taken aback for a moment. His brother was usually not the sentimental type. But then he saw an image of Mor flash in front of Azriel’s mind, and he understood what he was asking. Azriel understood his situation better than anyone else. 

Rhysand didn’t answer for the longest while, as he stared out into the depths of the flaming morning sky, the last of the shadows fading, taking the beauty and safety of the stars with them. The sun now shining light on the true face of the monsters within them. No escape. No liberation. Not for them with secret creatures entombed within. Their true selves. 

He picked his words carefully, knowing the significance of them for his friend. Knowing what his choice meant for him. Unable to brush him aside like he did with Cassian.

 A whisper. The only hope he could give him, even if he did not believe in it for himself.

“I don’t know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking the time to read this!
> 
> I won't be able to continue with Chapter 3 for a while, as finals are fast approaching and my goal is to graduate university in July, so I really need to put my ass down and study. I do have chapter 3 all planned out, though, so should a bout of incredible need for procrastination hit me, I might actually post sooner. Though, really, you should pray it doesn't happen. For my future's sake. ;) 
> 
> In the meantime you can contact me through my [blog](http://dalliantthoughts.com) or shoot me an [email](mailto:dalliantthoughts@gmail.com).
> 
> Again, thank you all for reading. Any thoughts are welcome. All criticism is encouraged. 
> 
> See you next time,  
> Karolina


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this has been long overdue and I apologise for it. Life got the better of me. But I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless. Every one of your kind comments on here and on [Tumblr](http://dalliantthoughts.com) has encouraged me to push through and get this chapter done, even when there were so many days I simply stared at an empty screen for hours without writing a single word. Thank you, to all of you.  
> Now, enjoy! :)

* * *

 

It had taken the Mortal Queens exactly fifteen minutes to make him regret his attendance, their incessant rambling not allowing for so much as a single coherent thought to form in his mind. 

He could feel the pull again, stronger than it had been back in Velaris. There it had been easy to ignore, the distance allowing for some much needed reprieve. On the continent, however, beyond the Wall separating the magic, there was nothing to keep the tether at bay. 

He knew that should he want to, he would be able to find the person on the other end of it immediately. The pull would lead him to her. 

But he wouldn’t let himself be led. 

Not because he didn’t want to. Though, at this point, he wasn’t sure he did. The girl had tricked him in a way only very few had ever dared. And none of them had lived to tell the tale. 

No. Rhysand was still angry at himself for ever letting himself be vulnerable enough around her for her to even attempt it. 

The audacity alone…

Were it anyone else, they would not have spared her. Had he not declared her to be his mate, Cassian wouldn’t have let her take another breath. He and Azriel would have brought down the Wall themselves had it meant they would find her. 

The very wall these overgrown children calling themselves rulers of the mortal world were now trying to convince _him_ to bring down instead, the events of the past fifty years having set everyone on edge. 

Rhysand sat there silently, eyeing one woman after another. Their ages differed, but their purpose was clear. All but one – absolute devotees to the idea of flooding their world with ancient power, frightful enough to warrant its exile half a millennium ago, yet so coveted, even the ones once oppressed by it desired the feel of its vibration against their skin. 

Their ancestors would have been ashamed of them. Blood had been spilt on both sides for the wall to be erected. More men had died than he wished to count. His own blood had seeped into the making of it. Strengthened it. Fed it. Its very essence was part of him, just like it was of every fae creature that had bled on those battlefields, the imposing rumble of its power keeping the real monsters at bay. And now these fools rallied to reverse it. The one thing keeping them alive. 

The distance of time really did make feeble minds forget. 

His anger steadily swelling, Rhysand turned his wandering focus to the girl seated at Tamlin’s side. Demure, she quietly took in the Queens and High Lords around her, her wide-eyes still darting from one to the other. Calmer now than when she first saw them again, but too anxiously frightened to betray anything but her suspicion and unease at being there, her scent still too noticeably present. Albeit, Tamlin was putting a decent enough effort into casting a glamour around her, portraying her more at ease to the Queens.

It still evaded Rhysand how someone could ever find it in themselves to devote themselves to Tamlin so fully – sacrifice as much as that human did for him. Maybe it was the human heart beating in her chest that drove her to do foolish things, just like it drove those Queens. Frail as it was, it must have coerced her to take on risks to give some meaning to her short existence. Maybe bedding a High Lord would be it. 

But her feelings seemed genuine, albeit thoroughly misguided. How she could not see that someone with a non-beating stone-carved heart could never reciprocate an inkling of what she might be feeling for him was beyond him. Not to speak of love her so much, he would want to sacrifice his life for her. Not him. Not Tamlin.

But then again, Tamlin had always been good at deception. What was one human being led astray? Maybe this girl, Briar… maybe she was just what he needed. Maybe she would be his equal. In depth and deception. Each would get what they deserved. And with the curse broken, what did he care?

No. Whilst thankful, Rhysand wasn’t particularly fond of the girl. Nor did he hold her in high esteem. And he was not shy about letting others know. Maybe had it been someone else, and not Tamlin, she had fallen for. But be it as it was, he could not but belittle her. 

Briar’s eyes met his, her expression becoming even more horrified when she noticed his gaze already lingering on her. It was humorous, really, and he found himself smirking at her in return. The girl hastily looked down, calling Tamlin’s attention to her. Soon, a different set of eyes met Rhysand’s and the smirk on his face widened to a menacing smile. 

Carnage. Death. That is what he was to them, and what he would remain. Yet, when he noticed Tamlin put an arm around the girl, Rhysand felt a tug at his chest. He stood up, pushing himself off the table everyone was seated at, disregarding his still protesting muscles, and cutting the old woman talking short. 

“What do you think you are doing?”

He didn’t deign to reply as he moved to the window and looked into the vast expanse of the city splaying at his feet, ignoring the imperious huff expelled at his antics. It looked different in daylight. Decried by its masters and denigrated by passerby, the harsh rays of the day cast light on the aridity that tormented its inhabitants, bathing everything in a sheen of ashen putrefaction.  

And here they were. The emperors of their fates, wanting to unleash more of the same plight upon them. 

“Rhysand,” Kallias tried to reprimand him. But his voice held more resignation in it than any effort to change his stance on this obviously mad endeavour. Really, the proposition was an affront to them, and for an instance, he considered humouring Kallias by sitting back down for just a moment if only to take a step towards reconciling the cleft between them, before deciding against it. Kallias could play pretend all he wanted to, but he would not allow himself to be insulted by the Queens like that.

“I will not subject myself to any more of your relentless gurgling,” Rhysand spoke to no-one, as his eyes kept searching the expanse for the spot along the ridge circling the edges of the city _she_ had taken him to the night before. Maybe he could…

“The High Lord of the Night Court,” spoke the youngest of the High Lords, unaware that he was threading on very thin ice, Rhysand’s patience already worn thin by the Queens’ ludicrous request and unceasing pursuance of it, “means no offence. I think I speak for all of us when I say that it is something we will consi–”

“Do not presume to know me or my motivations, young High Lord. For you will be amazed how quickly those of equal audaciousness have met a ghastly end.” Arduously, he looked away from the window and fixated the youngest of them with a gaze to rival the frigidity of the mountainous expanse back home. He would not be challenged like this.

“Whether they were deserving of it or not,” Kallias interjected.

“Not all of us had the luxury of idly standing by and watching Amarantha’s reign unfold,” Rhysand retorted, his voice holding newfound cruelty as the image of a dark room flashed in his mind, still fresh and vivid enough for him to consciously have to banish it before it consumed him. 

He could allow himself no distractions.  

Icy glaciers faced him. Kallias’ lips pressed firmly together. “Not all of us had the luxury of warming her bed either.” 

“If you were so eager to be with her, I am certain we could have shared. Would you have only spoken up, dear Kallias. Maybe the lovely lady next to you would have been spared the horrified expression now marring her fair face,” Rhysand spoke as he nodded his head towards Viviane, acknowledging the recently declared mate of the High Lord of Winter for the first time since his arrival. Her brows were drawn together, and he watched her hand twitch in the direction of her mate before it stilled on her lap.

“I am quite capable of sparing myself, Rhysand,” she said with resolve. “You would do well to remember that.” Her ashy features starkly contrasted her sapphire eyes dancing with the challenge. 

“Ah, but of course.” Rhysand gritted his teeth as he let his eyes travel up and down her white gown, ignoring the tensing newly mated High Lord to her side. “Life in hiding has suited you, dear Viviane. If only all of us had been lucky enough to enjoy it with you and your select few. I am certain we all would be quite capable of sparing ourselves.” The tug at his chest intensified. He needed this meeting to be over.

“Do not pretend you wouldn’t have spared your loved ones, had you had any, High Lord. Lying doesn’t beseem you,” Helion spoke from the other side of the room where he was seated, his face resting on one of his hands, the other tapping on the table. He was the image of utter sereneness, his dark skin glowing where the rays of sun hit it, illuminating the tiny particles of dust dancing in the air between them as they reflected the brilliancy of his skin. But all Rhysand saw was a red-haired woman lounging upon a bed, him slowly crawling towards her. The dark smile on her lips. The once hushed whispers – now screams in his mind.

He would have smiled at his old friend’s words weren’t he consumed by the voices, one by one, all spitting the same thing at him. The stale smell of old air in the reception room reminding him all the more of the underground stagnation he had been confined to for half a century.

“What do I need loved ones for when I have you to betray me.” 

The screeching sound of wood on marble alerted him to the movement, and then Kallias stood in front of him. 

“We were not the ones that played executioner to that woman,” he spat at him. He was seething, his chest rising and falling with his anger. 

“You were just the ones that kept hoping for a miracle!” Another tug. This one stronger. Rhysand was starting to feel sick to his stomach. “What would you have done had she not been so stupid as to fall for Tamlin? What would you have done had she not broken the curse?” Rhysand asked motioning with his hand in the direction of Briar. Tamlin immediately positioned himself between them as he pulled her out of her seat and behind him. He noticed his claws make an appearance for the first time in centuries. 

“Do not speak of her again,” Tamlin growled. 

Rhysand ignored him as he returned his attention to the pale man in front of him. “I’ll tell you what you would have done. _Nothing_. You would have bowed to Hybern just like you are about to bow to those mortals now.” He allowed his eyes to travel over the gathered, taking them all in. Each of the High Lords and their companions, every one of the five Mortal Queens still seated at the table. 

“People have died for your freedom. And you want to sacrifice all of that for what? What do you think you will gain by having magic flow through your lands again? You will just open the gates for Hybern, give him free reign over your Kingdoms.” 

Again, it was the oldest one that spoke to him. “As opposed to what? Wait for him to be the one to bring it down?” She didn’t back down as she looked at him, taking him all in, unflinching. Her voice was high, but it didn’t betray anything but certainty in her stance. “High Lord, you might be old, but you have spent the past fifty years locked away, doing our enemy’s bidding. You might not much care about the survival of your own race, but we have bided our time preparing, spent our reign anticipating this moment, and we can no longer wait.”

“The lack of magic might be what kept the human race safe for five hundred years. But faced with the danger of Hybern, we do not see it in our best interest to keep the worlds separate,” interjected the Queen dressed in black, frowning. She was more forthcoming than the eldest of them, whose cold eyes and unbent posture made Rhysand wonder just how many of those wrinkles on her face came from her age and how many were of her own device. 

“This new alliance you are suggesting…” Tarquin trailed off. He seemed lost in thought. After all, the boy had spent most of his life Under the Mountain. Then, his attention turned to Viviane, who stood up to join her mate at his side. 

“Just consider what it could mean for us,” she said, her steps languid and voice assertive. She stopped a few steps from them.

Her mate looked at her, his brows drawn together. “Viviane…”

“Just consider. We used to live amongst humans, share the lands. Many fae, high and lesser, fought on their side to free them. If magic were to return to these lands, flow through the earth again… We would be able to prepare. Forge strongholds. Protect this realm. We would find allies and mend a divide that has been keeping our people apart for centuries.” 

“We could do the same from Prythian.” Rhysand hadn’t expected the High Lord of Dawn to weigh in on the matter. “Why would we allow for the same situation to unfold that your ancestors fought to end so many years ago?”

“Because now we know better.”

“Most of us knew better back then, too,” Rhysand spoke. He itched to look at Tamlin whose family had fought for the Loyalists during the war, but Tamlin remained silent, and his nausea was getting stronger. There was no burning this time. He almost couldn’t believe that for a moment he regretted not having listened to Cassian’s reprimands. “It didn’t help much then,” he gritted out. “You out of all people should know that.” 

Viviane made to reply, but the Queen clad in black spoke over her. “With the Wall down,” she started, “we would be able to use weapons to protect ourselves. Magic would come to us on our terms. We would not be overwhelmed by Hybern. Our people would be able to adapt. Prepare. They would learn to wield it. Your people would be able to walk amongst us.” 

“To be picked off by your poison one by one?” Rhysand took in a sharp breath after the words escaped him. Images of the last night flashed in front of his mind. Of the human girl’s umber curls, her livid eyes, the burn of her lips as they met his. A tug at his chest again. Red locks in his face, making it hard for him to breathe, hands holding him down. Long fingernails ripping at the flesh of his shoulders. 

“The ash trees do pose a complication,” Thesan mused. 

“One that can be easily dealt with,” Viviane retorted. 

Him lying beneath her, his hips pinned down. His own hands lifting to her body despite the repugnance coiling within him.

“We will not forfeit the one weapon we have against your kind,” said one of the younger Queens speaking up for the first time. Her voice was almost a roar as she pushed her chair back and stood up, her long red dress trailing behind her, giving her golden hair and dark freckled skin the appearance of fallen autumn leaves. “I have chosen to remain silent so far, but I will not stand by as you auction away the one thing capable of giving us an edge over you.” 

“There is nothing for us to discuss then. We have nothing to gain from aligning ourselves with you,” he spoke through gritted teeth, his voice deadly.

“We _do_ ,” Viviane pushed on.

Rhysand’s head snapped in her direction, his anger rising to new heights. The room was spinning. He felt hands racking over his body.

“I will not allow someone, who is unable to comprehend the threat Hybern poses, to unleash him and every creature in Prythian upon this world.”

“You simply do not wish to share your power, High Lord,” spoke one of the younger Queens. Her black hair matched the cunning look on her face.

“So what if I don’t?” His words came out harsher than they were in his mind. He had trouble concentrating on anything but the tug he felt in his chest, the push and pull of the memory of hands on his body. “I’d rather keep my power confined to my lands than dilute it to the detriment of all of us. You were all too eager to stand by and do nothing as Amarantha ravaged our lands. What do you think you will be able to do against her King? The very one who fought for your enslavement? I will not see history repeat itself. I will not open the gates for him.”

“There have been resistances against her,” added Tarquin, meeting the High Lord’s eyes. Tarquin’s eyes were bright, and Rhysand could see the memories flashing in them.

“And what have you done since then? Any of you?” he challenged.

“I have let you insult me over and over again, Rhysand. But you forget that it was my Court that rebelled against Amarantha. It was my father alongside the High Lords of Day and Summer that dared stand up to her as you lay with her, and it cost them their _lives_. You just watched as she slaughtered all of them, choosing to stand on what you thought was the winning side. One could think you are doing the very same now.” Kallias’ voice was of murderous calm. 

“You do not believe that yourself,” Rhysand gritted out. The rumble of thunder made itself known outside, static filling the room.

“How many children died at your hands last time? How many innocent? And you dare stand here accusing _us_ of standing by?” Kallias pushed on. “I am not looking to bring the Wall down, but I will not allow Amarantha’s whore to spew accusations any longer when you are just pursuing your own agenda. I have had enough.”

Sweat dripping down his chest. A roguish mouth licking it away. His hands pinning her down. Him moving above her, fixating on a spot behind her, repelled. 

“You can choose to remain confined in your narrow view of things, Kallias.”

“And yet you, who were the strongest sympathiser of their cause all those centuries ago are now the one standing against them,” Vivianne blew up, taking another step towards him. “What happened to you, Rhysand? What changed?”

“I will not explain myself to a woman that spent the past fifty years ignorant of what went on in the Court her own mate rules, whilst she hid away in a glamoured city. You are just as delusional to this situation as they are,” he said, pointing to the Queens. He tried not to let the irony of his accusation linger.

“How _dare_ you,” she erupted, splinters of ice starting to fall from her fingers in a shower of mist. She took another step towards him, now within arm’s reach, just as lightning hit the roof of one of the city’s stone buildings, the rumble of it vibrating through the palace’s walls. The flash illuminated her pale skin, and as her white dress settled around her, it took the form of an aberration of it that had once clung to the curves of the very witch plaguing Rhysand’s waking thoughts. 

Rhysand tried shaking his head and focusing on the static. Tried grounding himself by embracing the increasing force and discomfort of the tug to his chest, the roll of his stomach… but he was there again. In that stifling room, he tried so hard to escape, filled to the brim with too many hides and gorged on pelts of the deceased Spring fae she had had him butcher. The blaze of the fireplace making the suffocating space all the more sweltering and unbearable. He was beneath her, unmoving, as she wrung her body upon him. The nausea in him rose. He tried holding her mind. Oh, he did. He imagined himself wrapping his hand around the thorny ice protecting her essence and squeezing finger by finger, as he watched the life drain out of her. As he watched the horror on her face, the realisation. He would give her just enough time. Just enough to realise what was happening. To know she was paying for her deeds. For the pain she inflicted. For all he had had to endure. To know it was him that took from her what she cherished most. Herself. 

So he tried. He tried like so many other times, each one as futile as the previous. 

But this time it was different.

This time he held her mind in his hand, felt the prickle of her thorns and the burn of the ice. He didn’t dare move as he watched her still. 

But then he applied just enough pressure for the first of the thorns to break, the icy dust falling to the empty pits below, warming his chest as each of the spiky flakes touched a different part of the bottomless pit that was his soul. He looked into her eyes then, saw the terror in the dark swivels of lust and abhorrence. 

And he delighted in it. 

Another push. Another thorn broke. 

Rhysand smiled to himself as an elation like no other spread throughout him. 

He squeezed again, but this time, it wasn’t his hand that felt the burn of her adamant walls breaking. His whole body fell prey to the frost as it spread throughout him instead, extinguishing whatever warmth the crumbling of her thistles had elicited. 

He tried to collapse it. He pushed harder. 

But the cold enshrouding him slowly cleared the asphyxiating heat, and the vast swivels of darkness he was looking into slowly started dissolving, giving way to cerulean brilliance. 

Panic rose in Rhysand as his vision cleared. As he took in the pale face staring back at him in alarm and abhorrence, her ashen skin looking all the more leaden and cadaverous, missing its usual glacial glory. Her mouth was open, yet no sound came out, her chest merely heaving with every gasping breath she took. Her hands lay limp to her sides. She looked nothing like the image of the red haired seductress tormenting him only seconds before.  

He tried taking a step back but found he couldn’t move. He was frozen to the ground. 

A flash of light blinded him. Then thunder racked through the room, the tremor of its boom felt in his very bones. 

“I…”

More thunder. For a moment he faltered. 

But then a blow to his face shook him out of his stupor, his mind clearing further and regressing back into his own, as the pain grounded him in his body. 

The zapping static in the room intensified as the tug on his chest became so strong he almost hurled on the spot. 

He dropped his hold on Viviane’s mind just in time, her mate’s fist colliding with him once again. She fell to the ground, gagging on the air now freely entering her lungs and grasping at her throat. 

This time when he tried stepping back, he could. 

Kallias was seething. The walls of the stifling reception room were now covered in a thin layer of frost, stalactites and stalagmites forming around the Lord of Winter, with every one of his expelled arctic breaths. He broke one off, and without taking his eyes off of Rhysand, the ice in his hand reformed to a crystal dagger, ready to be buried in his chest. 

Rhysand plunged the room into darkness before the dagger could find its target. He heard it cutting through the air as Kallias moved through the cimmerian space in search of him. He would have hurtled both of them into the void were he not nauseated. 

And then a glimmer of light erupted from the side of the room, the fire melting away the ice covering every surface and intimidating away the night he cast upon them. It liquified the dagger in Kallias’ hand and slowly worked on dispelling the darkness, banishing it to the corners of the room, the shadows writhing and dancing with the flames. Kallias made to move towards Rhysand again, but before he could take a step, singeing flames engulfed them both in circles, keeping them in place. 

“I will _kill_ you,” Kallias growled.

“You are both acting like children,” Beron chastised, sounding utterly bored and disinterested in the situation, yet his eyes glowed with ancient amusement. Kallias tried taking a step in Rhysand’s direction, but the flames intensified, their blaze pushing him back. 

Rhysand looked around him, at the faces of the gathered, his chest still constricting, his stomach coiling. The Queens, all seated but one, took them in, cowed and yet aghast. The youngest, fair haired one, still stood imperturbable and gratified, her amber eyes shining with appeasement. Their guards, who for this long had blended into the walls, now stood among them, ready to hoist them away should things go any more awry. Even the High Lords had turned in their seats, facing the scene that unfolded. Tamlin alone had had the sense to move away, Briar in tow and hidden away behind him, as he pressed her into the wall. Only her pale hand was visible, her knuckles whitened and thin fingers trembling as she clutched his tunic.  

Rhysand looked at the last remnants of his darkness trembling in the corners, at the water in puddles at his feet. And then his eyes fell upon Viviane, tracing the blood that trickled from her nose and stained her white dress crimson where its droplets met the now drenched fabric. 

He took in a shuddering breath, then faced Beron. Pushing the flames to the ground, his darkness extinguished the ones surrounding him. “I think we are done here,” he said, forcing his voice to hold equal disinterest, despite the plummet in his chest and rising panic, as he adjusted the lapels of his coat and dusted off his pants, his every movement measured. He stepped over the puddle of melted ice in front of him, and bowing to the Queens, who unanimously seemed to take a step back, he plunged the room into mist and darkness once more, as he winnowed out of the meeting, nothing but fog and an array of perturbed faces remaining in his stead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> As always, all comments and criticism are welcome (and encouraged)! You can contact me here and on [Tumblr](http://dalliantthoughts.com). :)
> 
> Until next time!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would apologise for this taking so long, but like... life. Enjoy!

* * *

 

“Is this to be a new habit?” The Shadowsinger mused after Rhysand appeared in front of him and leaned a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. They were in a safe-house to the edge of the city – the same one Rhysand had winnowed himself to the night before. 

Rhysand’s answering groan elicited a laugh from Azriel.

“Well, that was quick.” A muscle twitched in the corner of Azriel’s mouth. “I take it it went well?”

“What an utter waste of time.”

His friend’s eyes slowly drifted over the slight sheen of sweat on Rhysand’s temple, the rise and fall of his chest. “What happened?” His voice was tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” he spoke through his teeth, looking around the sparsely furnished room. Could he make it to the table? “That damn ash!” His insides were coiling. And despite having left the asphyxiating enclosure of the palace grounds and the presence of the High Lords and Mortal Queens, his stomach didn’t settle as he hoped it would once he left the reminders of Under the Mountain behind. 

He took two steps in the direction of a chair, then forcefully kicked it towards the table. Panting, he leaned against the table and turned to Azriel who looked at him solemnly, his brows pulled together. 

“Should I –” 

“No. Just allow me a moment,” Rhysand took a deep breath, trying to quiet the pull. Closing his eyes, he tried thinking of the night sky, its constant adornments. But as much as he tried to focus on the shimmering lights that cast a veil of content over him when he most needed it, their calming presence remained out of his reach, his hands grasping at thin air, distracted by the weight of his friend’s eyes on him and the increasing pull at his chest. 

So for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to reach further.

Further into his memory and into those dark moments Under the Mountain. He looked for the dreams he had had when he had lain next to Amarantha, for the flashes of those painfully familiar hands painting flowers on tables much like the one he was now leaning against. He called forth the very dreams he had banned himself from accessing when they had come to an abrupt halt a few months before the curse was lifted, leaving him with nothing but the bittersweet tinge of their memory in his most despondent moments. Their appearance had once given him hope. Strengthened him. The knowledge that somewhere out there was a person that had enough peace, enough light in their life, that they could paint flowers on a table, sit around the hearth in a dimly lit room or spend their time gazing at a warren of rabbits. 

Dreams, that had seized him once again the moment he came free; his thoughts urging him to look for the keeper of his longings. A woman that had given him hope, then ripped it from him as soon as the petals of distraction started blossoming within him. As soon as he tried reaching out. He was left to wither and crumble in the darkness of his mind’s endless sea, convincing himself her appearance to be an aberration – a Fata Morgana of his own making.

Old acerbity engulfed him, a friend he had long acquainted himself with and whose presence he dearly welcomed. There was a reason he barred himself from accessing those memories. False hope was servant to the weak, blinding the righteously despairing. Awareness of his exigency’s vicissitudes is what kept him from drowning, anchored him to the truth of his existence. 

“There’s this pull,” Rhysand explained when he couldn’t take it anymore, when the urgency within him didn’t subside. “This relentless tug at my chest. It’s driving me insane.” Another beat passed. He closed and opened his fist repeatedly. “This ash…”

“Has been completely cleared from your system. The healer assured me. It shouldn’t be causing it.” He could hear shuffling as Azriel moved closer to him.

Rhysand opened his eyes and looked at his friend. “Then what…”

His sweat turned cold at the scream that echoed through his mind, dipped in fright and anguish so potent, he would have stumbled had he not been leaning against the table. But despite the cry he heard reverberate through space, he was only met with his friend’s inquiring gaze. 

“I… I need to go.”

He was unsure what had compelled him, what drove his belief that he needed to find the girl he had sworn to himself he would not seek out. But the pull in his chest intensified, the panic in him rose. And he had no other reasonable explanation for the yank at his chest now that he was free of his responsibilities’ confinement than what he assumed to be the bond’s tethers, strung taut between them, being pulled by her.

Two racing heart-beats. That’s how long it took. And then he was gone, following the pull that was ravaging him. Frantically searching for the tug he had been trying to suppress. A panic took hold of him he was unable to place or explain. His anger rose at the hold this mortal seemed to have over him. He would not be controlled. Now that he suspected the tug’s origin, he considered leaving her to her own devices. He would not be manipulated by anyone. Much less by a human that seemed to find enjoyment in his debacle. As mirthlessly entertained as he had been by her actions the night before, he did not take lightly to her influence. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it, his curiosity over her whereabout winning over.

The pull intensified the closer he got. His eyes closed and in the vast array of nothingness, it led him to the origin of the push and pull he felt inside, the wind ripping at his skin as he stepped out of the darkness and onto murky grass in midst a canopy of trees. 

There she was – on the ground, hunched between two stones, fumbling with one of her frayed boots. Rhysand was hidden between the shadows of the trees, his presence muted just enough so he could go by unnoticed as he scanned the periphery and took in the situation, yet not so much as for the Shadowsinger to be unable to follow his track should he need to. Two men stood in front of the girl, one of them flushed, his posture angry, the other – better dressed – holding the blades the girl had stolen from him the night before and looking at them appraisingly, disinterested in his companion’s obvious irritation. He couldn’t make out the girl’s face. Her back was turned to him. Though, he needn’t step closer to hear her racing heart.

“Have you changed your mind, girl?” The well-dressed man mused as he tore his gaze from the blades and looked at her derogatorily. 

Rhysand watched as she spat on him. The man grunted, his face scrunching up in obvious disgust. He only motioned to the fuming man to his right with two fingers and his lackey took a step closer, a twig breaking beneath his weight. The girl jumped to her feet and pulled out a knife she must have had tucked away in her boot. She directed it towards the men, lifting it between them. Hellion, through and through. 

Rhysand moved past a few trees and stepped closer so he could make out her face. She held her left arm to her chest. Tears and dirt stained her cheeks. Yet she didn’t back down as the man stepped even closer, his lip pulling back to form a sneer. 

“Do not come any closer. I’m warning you.” He could hear the tremble in her voice, yet her posture screamed of silent certainty. This girl was no stranger to the weigh of a knife and its ways. “Pay me and we can be on our ways.”

The man holding Rhysand’s blades laughed, then took a step closer. He lifted the blades so they both looked at them. “You would like that, wouldn’t you.” He took another step closer. “And why, little girl, would I pay you? When I already have what I want?”

“Those blades are mine. We agreed to a trade.” The last bit came out in a pant. Rhysand came closer, wanted to see what caused her distress. The tug in his chest was still present.

“But you see, I do not remember having agreed to a trade. Nor are those blades in your possession.” The bastard had the audacity to smile, and with a nod of his head the brute surged in the direction of the girl and made to grab her knife. She took a step back, then sliced her hand through the air going for the man’s throat. But she wasn’t fast enough, and before she could regain her balance, the man had grabbed her hand and squeezed, the knife falling to the ground, the empty thud as it hit the earth buzzing through the clearing. 

Rhysand took another step forward. His mind screamed at him to step in, but before he could, he felt the presence of his friend behind him. He stayed put, lifting a hand to make sure Azriel didn’t step in. 

He could feel the question burning on his friend’s tongue, so he nodded. Azriel’s shoulders tensed slightly as he followed his order to not intervene. 

“Let me go,” the girl ordered. But the man didn’t obey. She kept struggling against his hold, her panic rising, and with it the pull Rhysand felt. 

“Let me go,” she repeated more forcefully and yanked her hand. The lackey used the momentum to pull her against him, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her back against his chest. Rhysand took another step forward. 

“How do you like this?” he whispered into her ear as she leaned her face away from him as much as she could. Rhysand wanted to strangle her himself for exposing her throat to him so recklessly. But then the girl bit him and the man cried out in pain. She stumbled forward, but before she could free herself from his hold, he gripped her with his other hand, yanking on the arm she had been clutching to her chest and twisting.

The girl let out a scream that made his insides coil; her cry coloured by the same pain as the tug he felt that made him seek her out. This time, however, there was no searching involved and Rhysand snapped into action.

The man slumped to the floor beside her, his nose and ears bleeding, his weight pulling her down with him. Her eyes were red and rimmed in silver, the tears running down her face freely as she stumbled to put distance between herself and the body. Rhysand didn’t even bat an eyelid as the rage fuelled by her own fear and pain consumed him. He had no time for rationalism or reason. He had no will to suppress the force calling him to action.

He dropped his glamour and stepped out of the shadows, directing his attention to the second man – the one holding his blades. He heard her breath hitch as she shuffled on the floor, trying to crawl away from him, even battered as she was. But despite the tug pulling his attention towards her, all he focused on was the man that had given the order, his eyes still strained on the body of his companion.

Then he stilled and looked at Rhysand; at the darkness rippling from him. His eyes widened and he took a step back before breaking into a hasty run. 

Rhysand didn’t follow him. One thought. Then the man was suspended, his movements frozen in mid-air, unmoving. The next moment he stood in front of him at a breath’s distance. He watched the panic on the man’s face spread as he understood that his body no longer obeyed him. That the Lord of Night was now his master. His eyes widened and he watched horror-stricken as the blades fell out of his limp hands. 

Rhysand picked them up and tucked them into his belt as if that’s where they had been all along. As if it were the most natural thing to do. When he was done, he faced the struggling man. Had he cared, he might have noted how young he was, the hunger in his eyes and fear. But he didn’t. For that man himself had cared little about the girl cowering by the rocks behind them. Instead, he saw the greed, the arrogance, the self-importance and decay that had driven his actions. 

Rhysand smiled cruelly as he watched the light wink out of him. He let him struggle. Let him feel how his lungs stopped obeying, how he couldn’t grasp for air no matter how hard he tried. And when he turned his pleading eyes to him he made sure that all he saw were the most heinous creatures of his Court and all he could feel was all they would want to do to him. Sweat coated his face and body; the droplets suspended in the air just like him, a prison to his mind and body worthy of this cruel man’s actions. And then he allowed him to gurgle, suffocating on his own blood trickling from his nose, until his mind, too, fell limp, and Rhysand allowed the body to drop to the ground.

He stared at the heap of limbs, taking in the horrid sight, slowly returning to himself. The shuffling of the girl crawling to the tree-line drew his attention to her. She was trembling as she wrapped her arms around her folded legs. Yet she was looking around frantically for what he assumed was a weapon. He almost smiled at her as he took her in. How brave she was to think she could fight him. How stupid she was to think a knife might help her after what she witnessed.

He noticed Azriel’s shadows crowding behind her, one of them already surrounding the first body, obscuring it slightly from her view, making it look less horrifying. 

He started walking towards her in a slow shuffle, giving her time to adjust to his presence, his movements steady and measured. How she didn’t run surprised him. 

“You’re welcome.” He stopped in front of her. Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide and breaths shuddering. Her eyes locked on his blades safely tucked into his belt, then they once more scanned the ground frantically. He didn’t know what it was about her, but her resolve to fight even at this time, even after seeing what he could do made him want to laugh. Instead, he unfastened the blades from his belt, allowing only his cruel smile to turn softer. He watched her tense, her eyes not leaving his hand. With a shake of his head, he threw the blades to her side, their clinking sound as they hit the ground beside her making her whole body jump. She winced at the jolt and grasped her left arm to her chest once more. 

 Rhysand saw the blood and bruising. There was a twist to it that should not be in a healthy arm. Broken as it was, he tried dulling the pain she was feeling at least a bit, taking the very edge off. Yet the frantic tug still didn’t subside. She wasn’t aware of it.

“You can stop being scared now.”

She scowled at his words. Then she quickly reached for one of his blades and lifted it between them as she stood.

“Do not come closer,” she whispered.

This time Rhysand allowed himself to smile truly. 

“You will need much more than a blade to defend yourself against me.” 

“I will take my chances.”

“That you will.” He took a step closer and she lifted her trembling hand higher. Her knuckles had turned white from how hard she was holding on to it. 

“For someone who just yesterday was all too eager to undress me, you sure seem to change your mind fast.” A coughing laugh came from the woods behind her. Rhysand muffled as much of it as he could, lest the girl hear it and be even more alarmed. He made a show of looking at their surroundings, trying to show her she was not the epicentre of his attention. “Then again, you did poison me.” He smiled. 

She faltered for a moment, her hand dropping infinitesimally. But then her eyes landed on the glamoured bodies, and she tensed up again. In an instant, they were gone. Obscured from her vision, Rhysand made sure to drop them at Azriel’s feet. He would deal with them and the repercussions of his actions later. 

“Will you stop?” he eventually snapped.

“Stop what exactly?” There was a bite to her voice he was not expecting.

“Stop trembling at the sight of me, girl.” She swallowed. “If I wanted you dead like them, you wouldn’t be pointing that sword at me.” Rhysand rubbed at his chest. The tug wasn’t subsiding, though the pull wasn’t as erratic as before. 

“It seems you got yourself in a fair amount of trouble. Again.” He sounded almost teasing. She just stared at him in return. She seemed more determined by the minute. A plan was forming behind her blue-grey eyes. “Go ahead.” Her questioning eyes met his. “Try to run. Though, I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”

She hurled the sword at him and it landed a few paces to his left. “Not a smart move,” he taunted. 

“As if that thing would help me against the likes of you.”

“The likes of me?” His smile turned menacing, despite his slight amusement. “You are right. It wouldn’t. Not the way you were wielding it anyway.” He picked up the sword and its twin, then looked for their sheath. It disappeared from the ground where the men had dropped it when he arrived and reappeared at his waist. He tucked the blades into it and grunted satisfied. “I had assumed you would have liked to keep them, after all the work you put into acquiring them.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “But I guess not.”

“How can you be on this side of the wall?”

“Do you poison all the men you try to rob with ash?”

“You are avoiding my question.” Her voice broke at the end.

“I think you lost the right to ask me any questions the moment you tried to trick me.”

He felt her heartbeat quickening. Yet her eyes mirrored yesterday’s resolve. 

“The swords are yours to keep if you want them. You earned them.”

“I don’t want them.” There was a tingling at his fingertips. Something calling forth his power. Rhysand closed his fists.

“Why were you trying to sell them?” He took a step towards her.

“What do you want from me?” Her breath was still rugged as she took a step back, keeping the distance between them.

“How about a thank you?”

“A thank y–” She broke off, shaking her head. “You are a monster.”

Rhysand laughed at that. She had no idea what kind of monster he was. But the thing leeching on to him did. He needed to move. Quickly. 

“No thank you then. How quaint,” he mused, trying not to make his agitation noticeable. 

“You broke the Treaty.”

“I did.”

“There is a price to pay.” She took a quick breath. “Retribution.”

“And who will enact it, Feyre darling?” Her nose scrunched up at his words. It bothered Rhysand more than he was willing to admit, though he also felt a peculiar sense of pride swell in him at her disdain towards him. 

Despite his words, there was a sense of urgency closing in on him. Azriel’s shadows were twirling frantically around his feet as if to warn him. He didn’t have much time. 

“Move,” he told her, his demeanour changing and his face stern. He had no time for games. The best thing would be to leave her there. Disappear and erase her from his mind. He would not be held accountable for a senseless girl’s decision. Even if to her he appeared to be the greater danger. The only one. And maybe she was right. So if she did not come willingly, he would not force her. 

“What?”

The hum of the magic closing in on them was getting stronger. He could not afford to be on this side of the Wall when it happened. 

“Fine then.” When she didn’t move, he stepped away, ready to winnow to the Wall. But the flare from the direction of the girl grew stronger. It held him back. The magic would come looking for him here and whilst it wouldn’t be able to find him, the tether strung taut between them would lead it straight to the girl just as it had led him to her. Their faint bond was of the same essence as the thing haunting him now. He could not risk leaving a sign pointing straight to him behind. Not when it served as a direct connection to him.

“One would think you would feel otherwise,” Rhysand muttered, unbelieving what he was doing. Within moments he had his arms wrapped around her as his wings erupted from his body. Her sudden intake of breath and following scream filled the air around them with sound as her lungs emptied. His whole body roared at the connection. Then, despite the pain she must have felt, she started pushing against him, thrashing in his arms and trying to get away from him. He did not have time to subdue her. With a thought, he infiltrated her mind and her body slumped against his. 

A second later he lifted off the ground, Azriel with the bodies on his trail. The next, he opened the door to the slit in the Wall between their two worlds, the body in his arms weighing heavy as the distance drained him. 

As he slipped through the slit, he allowed himself to feel the incessant buzzing of the Wall for the first time in a while–the all-consuming power of what was intended to keep them separate. He didn’t allow himself to think about what it meant. About the girl he clutched to his chest, the pull finally having subsided. About the two lifeless human bodies, he had Azriel haul back. About the magic trailing him. About how he was about to lead it straight to Velaris. About what it meant for him or his people. About the High Lords and their decision.

For the first time in a while, all he concentrated on were those few cherished dreams he had once had and the peace they had momentarily granted him. Peace he knew he would not have for a while. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always I'll be delighted to read any of your advice or critique in the comments!


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